Portraits
by Ndau Rae
Summary: "Everybody is a main character to someone. There are no minor characters." - Amy Harmon Short stories about the lives of some of HP secondary characters who deserved a lot more love and appreciation (or sometimes a proper ending). Pt I: Narcissa


Lucius is calling but Narcissa can't find herself to care. He should know not to disturb her when she is in her garden. Sighing softly, she dusts her pale, blue dress and scourgify her hands before moving out of her hiding place.

She knows what he has in mind the very moment she sees him and her smile freezes. Lucius may think he fools her with his carefully neutral face, but she grew up with Druella Black nee Rosier as her mother. No one can hide something from her, least of all her husband, and right now Lucius is expectant. Narcissa takes his hand in hers and send him a soft smile. He doesn't need more to understand and his face falls.

Before he can say anything though, Narcissa's personal house-elf appears with a soft pop and informs her that she has a visitor. Conflicted, she turns towards Lucius, 'We will discuss this after supper. But...Lucius, don't-don't let it eat you all day. Please.'

She only leaves when he nods.

Before even setting foot in the little salon, she knows who wants to speak with her. Mother is even more impatient than Lucius, Narcissa thinks, and more worried about her situation too. After all, deprived of one daughter, Druella knows the pure-blood world won't be so forgiving of her if her two remaining daughters reveal themselves to be less than what is expected of a pure-blood woman.

Perfection.

And for a pure-blood wife, perfection is strongly tied to her ability to give birth. To a male child. Strong, healthy, and obviously magical. Another thing her mother failed at, according to her grand-father. Narcissa knows he would have been happy even if her mother had given birth to male squib. Once, when she was six years old, she overheard him telling her mother that at least this way they would have known whether or not she was broken.

Broken.

A word which can't seem to leave Narcissa's head lately. Back when there was still a third daughter - Narcissa can't bear to say her sis-the other girl's name - Narcissa was often overlooked. She wasn't the first-born, gifted heir the other girl had been, and she wasn't as arrogant and charismatic as Bella; her straight, blond hair paled in comparison to the luscious, mahogany curls atop her sister and the other girl's head and her magic wasn't particularly strong either. In other words, she was a double disappointment. She was a girl, and she didn't possess any redeemable quality.

But then, the impossible happened, and between a dead girl and a uncontrollable one, her parents found Narcissa not lacking in any way. She bloomed during that period. Her parents lavished her with the finest dresses and jewellery to be made and she became breathtaking. She wasn't even that surprised when her father received a formal letter bearing the Malfoy's seal.

Lucius Malfoy was painfully beautiful, proud of their heritage and favoured by the one her parents called 'Lord'. He was a prince among the pure-bloods and he promised to make her his queen. It was more than what she could ever hope for, given the talks in pureblood circle that she and Bella had inherited their mother's...deficiency.

The morning of their wedding, Lucius told her that he wouldn't let those pesky rumors influence his decision, besides only the less fortunate gossiped.

A week later she was declared most beautiful bride of the century.

Eighteen months later, she is still childless.

Mother is particularly distressed about it. She comes at the Manor twice a week for tea she says, but in reality she's here to discuss her daughter current predicament. Between her unnecessary muttering and bitter silence, Druella is of little help. It's why Narcissa can't wait for her mother to depart, but she smiles nonetheless when she enters the room.

'Hello, mother. I hope you're well today.'

'I can't begin to fathom what makes you so cheerful this afternoon, Cissy,' her mother says with disapproval, but without the sour expression marring her face, that Narcissa has grown so used to see over the months. 'You will have the luxury to smile when you are with child.'

And there goes the mood. 'The Healer said that worrying is bad when you're trying to conceive, mother' Narcissa replies without missing a beat.

Druella clears her throat slightly. 'So are a lot of things, Narcissa. But I fail to see how placing your trust in a woman who is herself still childless will-'

'I know you fail to see a lot of things, mother, but understand that I can't do much more than that.' Her fingers are slightly shaking and she knows she should control herself before the remarks come, but Narcissa is tired of being questioned again and again over her choice of exposing her fertility problem to a healer.

'But still…,' her mother pursues.

'Still _what_?' Narcissa snaps.

'I only wish to ensure your future, child,' states her mother drily. 'If you cannot offer your husband a child - any child - be it male or female, he will have every right, and will most likely be encouraged, to take any means necessary to ensure his House's longevity. Even if that means divorcing you.'

There. It was said. No matter her self-control, or her poise, her mother has always been able to expose her biggest fears. She knows Lucius' family is becoming increasingly restless and likely to pressure him into divorcing her if she's not given birth by the end of next year.

* * *

Narcissa knows Lucius is eager to speak with her, something about an obscure potion discovered in Albania some time ago known to increase fertility a great deal and strengthen the expectant mother's womb during pregnancy.

Thanks to an extensive books collection, and a close friendship with a potion's Master, Narcissa considers herself a bit of an expert about potions. Something with those particular properties is sure to be full of banned or extremely watched components. She doesn't know what games Lucius is playing, but they can't afford to be caught with dark artefacts right now. Not after the recent accusation made against them by someone from the Order.

A nice donation to the Prophet ensured their reputation remained untarnished but still she worries. Sometimes, in the privacy of her rooms at the Manor, she dares wonder if they have made the right choice, Lucius and her.

She doesn't doubt the worthiness of their goal, it _is_ time to reclaim their long lost rightful place in the wizarding world. It is after all the natural order of things. How can someone with no traditions, no coutumes nor knowledge of the old ways possibly have their place in their world? With everything new they bring into their world, they negate centuries of legacy left by their ancestors. If they let the mudbloods come into their society, these filthy individuals would erase the pure-blood's entire identity. They proliferate and claim to belong, as if their ancestors hadn't hunted down wizards and witches for centuries, burning them and claiming that magic is shameful. Magic is beautiful. Magic is a gift they spat on for decades and now they want acceptation.

No, Narcissa doesn't doubt for one second that their goal is right. However, the Dark Lord is a _peculiar_ person. Sometimes, it seems that he doesn't care as much for their mission as they do. For someone who impresses upon them the importance of the blood that flows through their veins, he doesn't seem to care about spilling it himself for imaginary failures and trivial slights.

From time to time, the Dark Lord seems almost… to hate them, she muses.

Suddenly, a sharp pain interrupts her musing and she gasps. The pain is almost unbearable in its intensity and she has to use the wall to support herself. Narcissa has to remind herself to breathe, but her vision blurs. As she is about to let herself fall and yell for her house-elf when she hears noises behind the closed doors of Lucius' study.

He _can't_ see her like this. She can't _let_ him see her like this.

With more strength that she thinks she's capable of, Narcissa manages to drag herself to her room. The moment the doors close, she vomits on the floor, clutching her abdomen.

 _Not again_ , she thinks before passing out.

* * *

She is in the garden again when Lucius finds her. She has spent an awful lot of time here recently, he thinks. He doesn't know why but she seems almost sadder when he finds her there.

Lucius knows that he should spend more time here at the Manor with her, but their Lord is a hard man to please and sometimes, more often than not, he is away on missions for their Master. To prove a devotion which is already etched on his skin.

He thinks a child will make her happy again. Happy like she was in the beginning of their marriage.

Lucius know that an heir is very important, his father has made sure to impress this lesson upon him since his childhood, but the truth is he's not ready to share Narcissa's love with a child yet.

Almost absent-mindedly, he notices that his wife is knees deep in the soil, dirt under her nails. A part of him notes comically how much he is shocked by this. Until now he has never seen Narcissa less than gloriously put together. He can't help but ask what is she doing.

She is detached when she answers. 'Isn't obvious, darling? I am gardening.'

She marks the word "gardening" and Lucius notices her red-rimmed eyes and the exhaustion marking her face. She looks paler than usual too. He wonders if her mother is the cause of her current state, he has never seen her like this… almost oozing despair.

He stays silent as he watches her tend to her flowers almost methodically. She digs a hole first with her bare _hands_ before grabbing a tiny pocket full of seeds. He sneers when he sees these are Gardenias. Narcissa has been very fond of them lately, she even ask the house-elf to put a bouquet in their rooms, but he just finds them atrocious.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn't notice immediately that she has stopped moving. When he does, he observes her carefully.

She's holding a box he has never seen before with utter devotion. It is small but obviously crafted by a master, maybe a goblin. At first glance the box appears plain and black, but after a short but meticulous examen Lucius sees that it represents in fact a dark sky which reveals stars and constellations when the light shines on it. A fine layer of goblin's silver outlines the edges of the chest and forms a locket at its center.

It's obviously a Black heirloom and he's watching his wife burying it in the dirt with the utmost care.

It makes something tightened in his chest and he doesn't even know why.


End file.
